Neophyte / Adept (43 page)

“Okay... who are you?” said Ballard, playing along.

I hissed.

“You’re a flat tire,” said Ballard.

“Close. I am Halsey. Hear me roar.” I cat-clawed the air.
The little ape van wobbled down the road. Me, the terrible kitten.

Ballard said, “You’re right. I should have kept you
informed. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“I do. It’s because you think you have to protect me. I’m
not a little girl. Which is why I
also
have something I need to come clean to you about, Ballard.” Guilt swelled
within me.

“Wait... you haven’t been... You
have
been,” he said accusatorially. “You’ve been keeping secrets.
Halsey Rookmaaker, you tell me this instant.”

“Charming, Ballard.”

“Do you like it? I was using my mother’s voice. It’s kind of
like the kettle calling the pot black or Whatever. But I’m over that now. This
little get-together’s like a passing of the baton, don’t you think? Pretty soon
we’ll have secrets we don’t tell them.” He pointed to invisible parents. My own
were dead.

I nodded my head. “It’s on us now,” I said, “whatever it is.
Which is why you should have told me
everything
.
And why you’re going to tell me, now. Aren’t you, Ballard?”

“Last time I checked,” he said.

I slapped him hard on the chest, because it was the only
thing I could reach. We were nearly to wherever we were headed, leaving Rome
behind. I felt like a sardine. When suddenly he outbursted.

“The Skarborough article––I
knew
it!” he said, slapping the steering wheel.

“These little outbursts of yours should come with a warning
label,” I said.

“No, it’s just––she doesn’t listen. And quiet.
I’m Il Gatto. I won a race, so you have to do what I say.”

“That’s pretty much exactly how I say it in my head,” I
said, nodding in agreement.

But he refused to be lighthearted. “You stay in your head
too
much,” he said. “You’re like your
friend, that chick who lives down the hall.”

“Who? Vittoria...” I said.

“Yeah. You two should get out more. Or hang out. Craft in
common.”

“Actually, I hate her, she’s my nemesis, and I never want to
see her again, but what else have you got, Ballard?”

“The door that squeaks loudest deserves the most attention,”
he said.

“What does that even mean?” I was looking at him
pointy-eyed.

“Nothing. I just made it up,” said Ballard. “But you get my
point.”

“No––I really don’t. And as for needing your
advice, I’m older than you, by about two years, so why you think you can give
me it... Are you even allowed to drive yet? Trust me, Ballard, Vittoria just
wants a little nudge, before she goes full evil. I’m waiting, by the way... For
you to tell me what’s going on.”

We continued down the empty stretch of road. (Getting
married in the evening was an unusual choice. I supposed it had something to do
with Trastevere’s connection to the mysterious drama of otherkin cultures.)
“Tell me,” he said, “have you ever heard of the Benandanti?”

“Aren’t they werewolves? Lia told me.”

Ballard grimaced.

“She shouldn’t have said that. The benandanti are indeed
were
wolves––but from a
northern sect. Actually, they embrace all kinds of change. Your friend Asher is
one of them, and he was an ailuranthrope. His mother was a Benandantus. Gaven
told me. He also told me to keep an eye on Asher, when we were at the
Gathering––but then you and I weren’t speaking. It’s not important.
Anyway, this thing may be a rogue from their tribe. I have people monitoring
north of here. Several teams of Riders, in fact, are tracking it... The
hunter...

“But he’s clever, whoever he is. Always manages to elude us.
Which is why I closed the border. Ravenseal made an unscheduled incursion, two
weeks ago––this was when Gaven was Head Wolf. He turned them back.
Didn’t know what to think. Apparently, they were coming for you. Do you know
anything about that?”

“Who was it? Who was it from Ravenseal?” I said.

“Some inspector or other. The point is, we don’t want it
coming down here to Italy, the monster. I’ll fill you in after the wedding,
okay? Honestly, I was going to anyway. There just hasn’t been a moment to catch
up. Hopefully when things settle down, we can do more
you and me
stuff. Have you been doing any research?”

But it was too late. We were at the campagna, the
countryside surrounding Rome––and it was filled with people, and
Lia’s wedding was about to begin. I didn’t like this new regimented lifestyle.

* * *

Huge tents stretched upward in the night sky, rockets of
cypresses overhanging them, including one rather large pavilion, under which
sat a multitude of chairs and tables, and what looked to be a dance floor.
Great.
I think my flesh-eating butterflies
were back. I had been so busy haranguing Ballard to tell me stuff I forgot one
of my duties tonight was to address the attendants during a wedding toast.
Public speaking was not my forte. Ballard however seemed entirely at ease. He
stuck by my side even when several of his men made their way through the swarms
of people and wizards and werebeasts to whisper into his
ears––sometimes simultaneously. I had seen these same warriors hang
on Gaven’s every word.

Ballard had transcended. His burgeoning self-confidence
tempered by the knowledge of his own self-worth. I envied it immensely. I was
so used to feelings of inadequacy, within myself, that it was hard to realize
Ballard was no longer on my level.

Wiccans went their separate ways, when they matriculated,
stuffing each other down their respective rotas. It was down in the book. After
the passage on karma, there was the fact too many of us couldn’t be together.
We had to Hive. Break up. Split apart. I hoped I wasn’t losing Ballard. If he
had to stay, after all...

He was supposed to go with me––to
Prague––to the Districts of Magic.

I felt Prague, which was supposedly the Mecca of all Magic,
call to me. Would I go there alone?

It felt like I needed to go there. It was where Magic was
from, after all.

Perhaps my Virtue was I had no choice. After all, I was
Marked (I almost wrote
Marekd
), and I
was tired of hiding that fact.

Regardless that it writhed and twisted up my arm, my Wiccan
Mark was set, was it not? I was the last and final Rookmaaker––so
Risky had said. Well, apart from Selwyn. Him I needed to rescue. I suddenly
understood what Ballard had said about being so preoccupied with things. My
head felt more full than normal.

Meanwhile, the Ravenseals were after me, and I still hadn’t
managed to begin looking into my parents’ House. The knowledge that the
Ravenseals had come to get me was mind-numbing. Why had they come down to Rome,
if not to drag me back? This wasn’t going away... And Gaven had shut them out.
Why? Did he think they were in cahoots with the Hunter? Ballard had also
instinctively called it that.

But then I realized who the Ravenseals
were
in cahoots with. The Master House. It was said they were
recruiting Veruschka Ravenseal, The Master House. Although, I couldn’t think
why. I shivered.

...Halsey Ravenseal...

Even in my head it sounded like an evasion.
Know thyself.

But who was I?

Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major started––Ballard
and I had to hurry to our seats. Lia was in one of the tents waiting to come
out. It was down a stretch of grass to the rows of seating, hundreds of figures
taking their places, seated before a beautiful hand carved
gazebo––with intricate figures representing trees, carved into it,
dripping Italian yellow jasmine and trumpets of honeysuckle, blooming, even in
this mid-February.

There was something in the air. My fingertips tingled with
it. What I guessed was the proximity of so many other mages.

As was customary, the witches and wizards had dressed in
various-colored robes, with bright silver symbols shining on them, and had
outlandish hair. This is what some of the symbols looked like:

I recognized them from the website I had seen. But I had
questions, and no answers were forthcoming. It was like we were communing with
something, all of us. Something pagan and primal, here in this get-together.

Ballard and I were seated several rows back and to the side
of Ballard’s mom, who was across the aisle from two older people I didn’t
recognize but could only be Mr. and Mrs. Overstreet, Gaven’s parents.

Mrs. Overstreet had her handkerchief ready, while Mr.
Overstreet (who had endowed Gaven with his incredible good looks) smiled on
appreciatively, as his son stood waiting for his bride-to-be. I was pleased to
note Gaven was in a tux. Some ceremonies superseded those of being a werewolf.

All too soon, the music lifted, shifting into The Bridal
Chorus, and we all looked back as one. A collective gasp as the onlookers
beheld Lia for the first time, being escorted down the aisle by her father, who
placed her hand into Gaven’s––her wedding dress was a trail of
flowers and gems.

Gaven simply radiated triumph.

Lia’s father took his seat next to Cyno and the nuptials
began.

I was expecting the same old, same old. Which is ironic,
since I’d never been to a wedding before. Instead of traditional wedding vows,
however, Lia had prepared Wiccan ones.

When it came time to speak up, or forever hold our peace,
Ballard cleared his throat, but whatever it was, he let it pass, and as no
ex-flames for either party stepped forward, that was that. The minister
announced that Gaven could kiss the bride. Which he did.

There were quite a few wolf whistles––and then
just applause, glorious and prolonged, because Gaven and Lia were now husband
and wife. “Let no man put asunder––nor werewolf
neither
!” said the minister, spitting
out his n’s.

It was about to get out of hand, as Mistress Genevieve would
have said. A band had been called in. There were a lot of jumping and dancing
children and adults. Gaven pulled off Lia’s garter and she threw the bouquet. They
weren’t leaving yet, were they? I wanted to have a talk with them first. To
tell Lia and Gaven to go to Tuscany, or the Caribbean––and not to
worry about Rome. But I knew they wouldn’t. I had never met two people so
fastidious about responsibility.

Ballard shook off his shoes, and I watched him, to various
whoops, moonwalk his way across the hot coals; they had built a firepit, I
Gatti, outside the pomerium, the ancient protective border, which encircled the
city, like a protective enchantment ringing Rome. Who was keeping control of
things while the werewolves were away from Rome?

I had entrusted my motorcycle to the security of Trastevere.
But it didn’t look like there were any werewolves that could be there. They
were all here! Volt and Pouch, two younger-looking ones were doing a raucous
dance with several teenage girls, who cheered them on, before joining in with
them exuberantly. Had they experienced the Calling, yet, any of them?

The band died; or was dragged off; and the fireworks
started. Two warlocks, who had helped build the Gathering, let loose with a
barrage of showstoppers. The guests all ooh’d and ahh’d. The warlocks were
showing them their
truespirits
.
Things got quickly out of hand. It was only then that I saw how afraid everyone
was. The two wizards were dueling each other for whoever could produce the best
pyrotechnical explosion. The rockets were being let off by their
hands
. Literally. Fireworks erupted from
their W’s like Wiccan bombardments. One Wiccan did this two-handed one which caused
the sky to erupt in a blaze of violet stars and his hair to go all white. There
was a chain reaction of explosions, culminating in a giant, ruby-encrusted
heart, which floated above our heads, with a golden G & L written into it,
for Gaven and Lia, that started burning in the center, like embers in a fire,
drawing energy into it; and then, with a deafening explosion, which could be
heard all around, dinner was served.

The guests were seated according to their
proclivities––which meant I got put with several
werepeople––but also, a witch, a wizard, and––Gemma
Moonflower. She was the first Initiate who had been
Chosen
at the Gathering. Harcort had taken her. They were a British
coven of witches and wizards; a
kord
,
as was more proper, of ros an buccans. I looked, before I could help myself, at
Gemma Moonflower’s Mark, only to find it covered over. When would this impulse
to hide our true natures go away? I wondered.

I hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. There was everything
and then some, including several foreign dishes, with exotic-sounding names, I
had never seen before, including some which squiggled and leaped I assumed were
must-haves
for certain of Lia’s and
Gaven’s more rapacious dinner guests. The facial hair in the throng was
hirsute. I wondered if this was a werewolf thing––like Wiccans with
their Marks? Was it written on a person what they would become? Just as the
Hunter had seemed to transform, becoming who he really was?